


Of Evergreen and Cinnamon

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Yuri Plisetsky, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Retired Victor Nikiforov, Work In Progress, what are tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When alpha and omega meet their soulmate, they lose their scent to everyone and they wouldn’t be able to smell anyone except their intended until they mated and bonded, where they would gain a mix of both their scents. And, if their intended died before they could bond, their scent was lost forever.Viktor Nikiforov lost his scent to Yuuri Katsuki right before the omega vanished. Three years later, he smells the omega's scent again.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov & Original Character(s), Yakov Feltsman & Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 40
Kudos: 131
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of two nights of not being able to sleeeeeeeep

healthy It started as a normal day for post-retirement Viktor Nikiforov. He got up. He made himself a breakfast and gave Makkachin her soft kibble with warm dog-friendly broth. Makkachin got her morning walk around the apartment (poor old girl couldn’t go as far as she used to) and her morning medication. Viktor took his morning medication (really, it was one thing for his knee with a name too complicated for him to remember and a multivitamin). Then, after changing into something warmer and throwing on his stuffed backpack, he went on his morning jog.

He had taken this route nearly every day for the last three years, since he announced that he was taking a year off from competitive figure skating. This was in the opposite direction of the ice rink, where nosy reporters and fans used to wait on the steps to harass him with questions if they saw him. It wasn’t that he was hiding from them. He was willing to answer questions that were not shouted in his face in front of flashing cameras. He still got stopped by at least one person during his short morning and evening walks with Makkachin. He still got questions at events, which he attended as one of Team Russia’s choreographers, but, since he didn’t need to please sponsors, he could easily excuse himself.

“Good morning Misha!” Viktor greeted as he stopped in front of the far-too-big cat that somehow balanced itself on the thin metal sign for the Saint Peterburg branch of the Omega Rehabilitation Centre. He still wasn’t sure about that cat. He first time he saw him, Viktor wanted to check to see if the zoo was missing any animals, as any cat that rivaled Makkachin in size didn’t seem to belong anywhere else. Then the director came out and explained that he lived there. He gave the omegas something they could fuss over to get their minds off…whatever they were escaping (he suggested a dog, but the director explained that some of the residents would feel torn between needing to stay inside where it was safe and walking the dog, thus causing more stress). Plus, he tended to scare away unsuspecting alphas.

Hell, Viktor was still a little scared.

The cat meowed at him, demanding his morning ear scratch. As always, Misha was majestic looking, with his grey fur perfectly brushed out and silky smooth between Viktor’s fingers. Maybe it really did take a whole squad of people to manage that fur. He was almost tempted to ask if he could bring Makkachin, just to see if the omegas could brush the stubborn knots out her fur just as well. The last time he tried resulted in him in tears and the poodle refusing to even look at him for hours.

Viktor looked up at the short stone steps. Once a week, Victor brought some much-needed supplies that the director couldn’t order. So, they weren’t urgent things that were needed for their physical health. It was things like books and art supplies, along with cat treats and toys. Usually, the director met him at the sign, as she didn’t want an alpha getting too close and scaring the already traumatized omegas inside. Even if Viktor was scentless.

It was not common for an alpha to go unscented for long, and it was almost always for tragic reasons. When alpha and omega meet their soulmate, they lose their scent to everyone and they wouldn’t be able to smell anyone except their intended until they mated and bonded, where they would gain a mix of both their scents. For an omega, a number of other things could happen to make them lose their scent, such as pregnancy or disease, but for alphas that was the only reason. And, if their intended died before they could bond, their scent was lost forever.

It happened to Viktor during the Sochi Grand Prix Finals. That much was obvious to everyone when he staggered into the hotel lobby the night after the banquet with a hangover and without his scent of evergreen and chamomile. He couldn’t hide not having a scent anymore. He was known for barely controlling his scent, even if he did manage to keep everything else in check. Even later in his skating career, he could be in the middle of a press conference, see a cute dog through a window, and accidentally flood the room with his scent while keeping a straight face.

That was all anyone outside of the Sochi Grand Prix skaters knew. People suspected that Viktor’s break-then-retirement from competition after his fifth world champion title was partly because of whoever he lost his scent to, though all Viktor would give them was that Makkachin was getting older and he wanted to spend more time with her. People did ask. People waited for Viktor to show up one day with an omega on his arm as he walked his dog, the air around them filled with evergreen and something else. As time passed and Viktor continued to go scentless, those questions dwindled. Clearly, Viktor Nikiforov’s scent was gone for good, and he was not going to talk about it.

“Good morning!” Katherine shouted as she ran out the door to meet him. The director looked like she hadn’t slept, with deep bags under her eyes and usually straight gray-streaked brown hair turned frizzy. There was a coffee strain running down the front of her blouse. She had black ink marks on her left hand where she must’ve missed putting the cap back on a permanent marker. “So sorry! We had an emergency admission last night.”

It wasn’t the first time Viktor came the morning after a late-night arrival. It almost always involved a traumatized omega escaping an abusive partner. Sometimes it was a parent rejecting their child for suddenly presenting as an omega. Being a fairly new branch of the larger organization, it was run by the director and a few volunteers, so it usually fell on Katherine to handle the admissions. He wanted to say that he could always help. He wanted to volunteer, but the rehabilitation center didn’t allow alphas. Even betas had to pass a strict background check before they could enter the building as a volunteer.

Viktor was opening his mouth to say so (yet again. This was a weekly offer that she turned down every time) when something hit him. A scent caught on the director’s clothing. Warm cinnamon sugar and vanilla. He took a deep breath, inhaling that scent he hadn’t smelled in years.

“Mr. Nikiforov?”

Viktor didn’t realize he closed his eyes until he opened them again. He smiled at the nervous-looking woman in front of him. “Yuuri Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki is here?”

At first, the director blinked. She looked Viktor over, still surprised by his reaction to an apparent smell on her. Then she said, “have you seen the news this morning?”

“No.” Viktor didn’t even have a TV in his penthouse apartment. Before he retired, he never had the time to lay around watching TV. After, he had so many books he wanted to catch up on, so much music to listen to without thinking about what would make a good program. He spent many long afternoons laying on the couch with a good book and a sleepy dog draped across him, only getting up to either flip or change the record on the player (god did that bring back memories). It did get lonely though.

“We should talk…in the other office.”

The other office was in the smaller building attached to the main building by a walkway covered in vines. The director explained that this was where visitors could come to visit, if the omega approved. This space was always open to the resident omegas though, with their key card that unlocked both entrances (and Misha had a special senor on his collar). They went through the main entrance, which had obnoxiously loud metal detectors that Viktor accidentally set off. After removing the knitting needles, sewing needles, and crochet hooks from his backpack and keys from his pocket, he was allowed through. Inside was set up like a recreation center, complete with a coffee bar and a mini library. Viktor couldn’t help smiling when he recognized a few titles he donated with a lot more wear than he remembered.

A couple of omegas in coordinating blue and black outfits with matching leather collars sat at a table, so focused on their game of Monopoly that they barely waved at the director and one of them mumbled a very distracted “Welcome to ORC” to Viktor while the other wished him luck. The director must give tours to new omegas often.

This office was mostly empty, just a desk with a few chairs, a computer, and a large filing cabinet. “This is usually our discharge office. It makes it easier to get all the paperwork done here, where most of the omega’s family have visited at least once,” Katherine explained as she gestured toward worn plush chair for Viktor. Hers, on the other side of the desk with a leg supported by ancient textbooks, was just as worn. The computer was up to date though (thank god. Viktor was worried it might be as old as the one in his former coach’s office that he insisted still worked “like brand new” even if it took forever to load a page) and soon had a news article to present him. “Last night, there was a noise complaint on a house outside of the city that resulted in an omega trafficking bust. Five of the victims were identified, but the eldest had to be sedated due to a neck injury and a panic attack. We’re the only omega shelter in the area that takes men.”

The entire article was a single paragraph that Viktor skimmed through. Apparently, authorities weren’t allowing the news outlets to release any more details yet. Even the director gave him more details than what was written. It just said that “a number of omegas were taken to local rehabilitation centers” and that “this was a developing story.”

“Can I see him?” Viktor asked without thinking about it. He knew the answer before the director shook her head. Of course not.

But then she stopped and pulled out her phone. “I can show you a photo. I have to warn you, it’s not pretty.”

Viktor nodded, taking a deep breath to brace himself. It didn’t work. Nothing could have braced him for this.

The last time he saw Yuuri Katsuki haunted his dreams every night. He was beautiful that night, his soft cheeks flushed from expensive champagne and dancing. His brown eyes sparkled like stars. His ink-black hair smelled like tea tree extract, far softer than he expected when he rested his head on his shoulder in the elevator. His hand warm in his as they walked down the hall. His lips soft, though a bit chapped, when he kissed him good night at the door of his hotel room. Yuuri giggled happily, a sound Viktor wished he could have recorded somewhere besides in his memory, when he sealed the whispered that he would find him in Japan against the cinnamon and vanilla-scented gland on the omega's neck and sealed the promise with with the softest of kisses.

Those soft cheeks were sunken, paler than they should have been. His closed eyes were framed with black and blue. His hair was overgrown, matted and full of knots. Those lips were covered in scabs where they had split, dried blood on the corners. Bruises on his jaw. Bruises around his neck, visible above the medical brace.

“That…that’s Yuuri Katsuki,” was all Viktor managed to say before his head hit the desk.

* * *

Viktor came to sprawled out on the couch with a cooling gel patch on his forehead. He groaned as he touched the patch. “Oh. You’re awake,” one of the omegas from before said from somewhere beyond Viktor’s view.

“You’re lucky the kids have class,” the other said. Viktor heard dice rolling. “God the shit they would have drawn on your face. Especially that forehead.”

Viktor sat up and looked at them. They were still sitting at the same table, in the same seats, possibly still playing the game. They looked barely old enough to not be in school at that time. Then again, at their age, Viktor would have been halfway through practice with Yakov.

“Hey, you probably should stay put,” the man moving the tiny top hat said. “I’m not peeling you off the floor.”

“You might as well, Mr. I Can’t Stay Out Of Jail.”

“At least I’m not one bad roll away from bankrupt.”

“Excuse me,” Viktor said, interrupting them. It was when they turned at the exact same time that he noticed that they were identical, which took him by surprise. “Uh…my phone? Do you know where my phone is?”

“Oh yeah. It’s charging by the coffee maker,” the man playing as the boot said. “You want a cup. We got regular, blonde, decaffeinated, double caffeinated, mocha-”

“Anton, relax. The man just needs his phone.” Then the top hat omega took a good look at Viktor. “The blonde is good. What kind of creamer do you take? We have vanilla, hazelnut, caramel-”

“And that’s enough coffee for you two.” Katherine, thank god, interrupted them. She looked at the board. “Alex, how?”

“Skills,” Alex offered.

“Luck,” Aton countered at the same time.”

Katherine shook her head as the men started to argue before saying to Viktor, “Don’t mind those two. According to the calendar they insisted hanging on their door, they should be getting ready for work.”

In a flurry of curses and accusing the other of lying about setting an alarm, both men ran to the side door. Anton touched his key card on the pad, then they both ran through.

“Poor things,” Katherine said, resting her chin in her hand. “We’re working on co-dependency with those two.”

“Really?” Viktor asked sarcastically. A part of him found it kind of creepy that they were perfectly in sync with each other. They even chugged their coffees at the exact same angle at the same time. Another part couldn’t help thinking of how amazing they would look in a pairs skate. If they were that in sync off the ice….

“They used to not let the other out of their sight. Now they work across the street from each other.” Katherine explained as she handed Viktor his phone. “They also would not have thought to look up from their game.” She leaned down to look him in the eyes and stared for what felt like forever, then nodded. She straightened herself back up and walked toward the coffee bar. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have the Katsuki family contact information?”

Viktor shook his head. “His coach would.” He then pressed a finger to his lips. “Cialdini, I think? Coach Yakov would know.”

“Could you try? I’d like his family to know before it’s broadcasted on TV.”

“I’ll call my coach now.”

It took a few more minutes and a fresh cup of coffee (mocha with a splash of hazelnut creamer) for Viktor to muster the courage to finally call his former coach. At this time of the day, it was likely just about time for lunch, which meant Yakov was likely at his most irritable. Nothing irritated Yakov more than phone calls.

“Viktor Nikiforov! I am working!” was how the coach answered the phone.

“This is important!” Viktor said quickly. On the other end, the coach dismissed his skaters for lunch. Soon, he had his creaky office door shut behind him. “What’s so important that you had to call now?”

“I need you to call another coach.”

“What for?”

“Did you hear about the omega trafficking?”

“I heard some juniors talking.” It wasn’t just the juniors talking. Being the big story of the day, nearly every person in the building was talking about it and discussing theories and rumors as to why so little information was available (it always spiraled back to government cover-up). It was strange that Yuri Plisetsky was the only person focused on skating, to the point that his coach was starting to get concerned. Usually, the current world champion would be glued to his phone. Instead, the omega’s phone was left next to his water bottle and skate guards (where its supposed to be every day) while he practiced far from everyone else. He was actually thinking about sending him to lunch early anyway when Viktor called.

Viktor looked up at the ceiling. There was a pencil sticking out of one of the panels, which distracted him for a moment. “Yuuri Katsuki is one of them.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by the loud clicking of computer keys. Then there were the sounds of wood scraping the old tile floor, footsteps across the office, then a soft his of a bottle opening.

“Coach Yakov, are you drinking?” Viktor half teased.

“You’re telling me to call Celestino to tell him this. I need a drink.” It sounded like Yakov drank half the bottle in one go before putting on his desk. “Vitya, where are you?”

“ORC. It’s-”

“I know. Why are you there?” Before Viktor could explain, Yakov said, “Never mind. Just go home. We’ll talk tonight.”

By the time Viktor actually walked into his apartment and got his new TV set up, Yuuri Katsuki’s face was already being splashed all over the news. Of course, they showed official ISU photos and a highlights reel of his skates. Viktor watched a clip from a video he watched so many times immediately after Yuuri disappeared from the Sochi hotel. It featured a beautiful step sequence, one that he had tried to imitate many times both on and off the ice and never felt quite as graceful as when Yuuri performed it. Yuri (when he thought no one was looking) was closer, but still not as elegant.

It took Makkachin's whining and pawing at his leg for Viktor to realize that he was crying. The alpha sat on the floor, wrapping his arms around the poodle as he buried his face in that curly brown fur and sobbed until the timer on his phone went off. Then, wiping his eyes, he made his way into the spotless kitchen to start on dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Might not be important to the story at all as Misha is only here to be cute, but he’s a Norwegian forest cat. Misha was the first name I could think of. 
> 
> **cue 90's style anime-style theme music**  
> Next time on Of Evergreen and Cinnamon, get ready for those warning tags to actually matter cause we’re diving in!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING***  
> I told myself I wouldn’t write about any more rapes. Yeah…I lied to myself. It’s in the italicized flashback scene. Content warnings do include rape/non-con but just giving you a heads up because this is only chapter 2.

_He wanted to die._

_They wouldn’t let him. The alphas keeping him isolated in that dark, cold place forced just enough water down his throats to keep him from dying from thirst. Just enough food to keep him from starving. They injected him with more drugs than he could keep track of. There was something that reduced fevers. Something to make his body go limp, but kept him conscious. Something to wake him up. Something to make him sleep. Sometimes, if they allowed him to sleep long enough, he caught glimpses of dreams so vivid he could feel the warm arms around him and catch wisps of evergreen that lingered in his mind when they woke him back up._

_The worst times were when they injected something that induced heats. It felt like he was being split in two, with his logical mind screaming for it to stop while his omega instincts begged for more. Not that it mattered, not with the gag that almost never left his mouth muffling all of his words, or the heavy metal cuffs that kept his arms and legs spread out on the old bed, or the thick collar around his neck that the rougher alphas liked to pull when they were about to climax._

_It was one of those nights. Despite barely being able to catch his breath through his nose after being choked until the last alpha knotted him, his triggered instincts made him moan for more, made him spread his legs as much as the cuffs around his ankles would allow to present himself. Another alpha stepped in, straddling the trapped omega. He leaned in close, whispering into his ear rough-sounding words that he didn’t understand. Then he pulled back just far enough to line himself up for the first violent thrust into him._

_The ball in his mouth barely muffled his screams. The alpha was so big. Every thrust hurt so much. The alpha shouted something at him in the same language as before. It sounded like a command. It probably was a command, one that was wasted on an omega who didn’t understand the words and couldn’t pick up on the scent that probably accompanied it._

_Then there was a shout. Beyond the tattered curtain that separated his bed from the others, he heard one of the usual alphas came running down the stairs, shouting in that language. The alpha over him pulled out and ran. He heard chains suddenly being yanked then locked in place, other omegas’ muffled cries cut off sharply._

_Then he was over him, yanking the chain connected to his collar up to cut off his airway and locking it in place. ‘This is it’, he thought as his body instinctively thrashed against the chains for a single breath his mind knew he wouldn’t get. As black spots took over his already blurry vision and his movements weakened, he saw beam of white light and was reminded of the flashlight he clipped onto his tiny dog’s leash for walks when it was still dark out._

_‘I’ll see you soon, Vicchan.’_

Instead, he found himself alone in a brightly lit room. Other than the droning machines and the beeps slowly growing faster, it was silent. After such a long time of listening to constant shouting and muffled crying, the relative silence was scary. He couldn’t help his own quiet sob, and was surprised by his own voice and the lack of restraints keeping his bandaged hands from his face. He still couldn’t move though, too tired and too weak to do anything but lay there crying.

Then someone walked in. “Hello. Are you feeling alright? Blink once for “yes”, twice for “no”.”

He couldn’t help his gasp. He understood that! How long has it been since someone spoke to him in a language he spoke? The omega wanted hug this blurry stranger. This blurry stranger who was surrounded in shining white light, like the figures the guy in the room across from his in the dorms painted. What were they called? Not a fairy. “…angel?”

She chuckled, sounding almost relieved. “I’m not an angel, Mr. Katsuki, but I am very flattered.”

He froze, staring in disbelief. Mr. Katsuki. He hadn’t heard that in so long. Immediately, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He knew what that was. “My name.”

“Mr. Nikiforov helped us get in contact with your family.” He stared at her. There was only one person Mr. Nikiforov could be. Viktor Nikiforov. He helped contact his family. That meant that his family wasn’t there yet. That meant that the Viktor Nikiforov, the man he’s idolized forever, whose offer for a commemorative photo he walked away from, saw him like this. As a broken omega who lost his scent to a complete stranger. Used. Shattered. Unable to smell even the kind not-angel next to him.

Yuuri screamed.

* * *

It had been almost a week since Yuuri Katsuki was admitted to the Omega Rehabilitation Centre. Viktor kept stopping by every morning, and every other afternoon, though he was nearly unrecognizable in his old black hoodie. The day after Yuuri was identified, someone leaked images of Viktor petting Misha and talking to Director Katherine. After he was nearly tackled by reporters who wouldn’t take his repeated “no comment” as an answer to their invasive questions, the alpha was given a wristband that let him into the recreation building.

“Hey Nikiforov!” an omega named Nadya shouted from a table covered in textbooks, worksheets, and old coffee cups. Her laptop had dents so deep Viktor was amazed it still worked. Just like he was amazed she still spoke to any alpha after her mate nearly killed her. She told Viktor about the nasty scar that started somewhere under her bright neon green collar (apparently, all of her collars were neon) and apparently went all the way down her chest. “How are you with math?”

“I can calculate figure skating scores without a calculator?” Viktor offered as he threw a coffee pod into the machine. Mocha again. He was going to need to start bringing refills of the mocha flavored coffee pods. He may have developed an addiction to them.

“What about the quadratic formula?”

Viktor tilted his head to the side, face completely blank. “The what?”

Nadya sighed in exasperation as she threw her face into her hands. “I’m going to fail this exam.”

“Sorry.”

“No. It’s not you,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not your fault I suck at planning my course schedule.”

“If it helps, I brought snacks,” Viktor offered, pulling a box of prepackaged cinnamon graham crackers with frosting out of his backpack. Anyone could bring food, as long as they were store-bought and individually wrapped. Katherine mentioned that they used to allow homemade food, for the comfort it brought to the residents, but then an incident at another branch years before ended that.

“I’ll take that over algebra help any day,” she said, opening and closing her hand in the air for Viktor to throw her a package. She easily caught it and gave it a shake. “This is why you’re my favorite skater.”

“Rude,” Yuri mumbled as he walked in, adjusting his lanyard so the strap was neat under his black, grey, white, and purple paw print collar. Viktor was shocked when it was Yuri Plisetsky that threw the plastic wristband at him, though the warning not to be an ass shattered the illusion. It was a secret that the blonde figure skater volunteered at the centre on his rest days (only person outside the rehab that knew was Yakov). He mostly worked in the recreation building, making sure the residents that needed less help took whatever medication they needed and didn’t disturb others, and he helped with the little kids as needed. Currently, he was setting a tiny white paper cup of pills in front of Nadya.

Nadya took the cup. “And this is why you’re not,” she said before tossing it back like a shot of alcohol, something that was banned from the centre as most of the residents were on some sort of medication regiment. Then grabbed a coffee cup and chugged the contents. “Hate those things.”

Suddenly, Viktor caught the now-familiar scent of cinnamon soured with distress. He looked up just as the director walked in through the side door. He knew she was as stressed as she looked. Yuuri Katsuki had woken up a few times, and had been so panicked he had to be sedated again before he caused himself even worse injury (thank god his neck wasn’t broken as they originally thought). While no one else could smell it, Viktor easily picked up Yuuri’s scent whenever anyone that was near him.

His quiet growl startled both omegas near him. Nadya suddenly closed her laptop and walked into a different room (the quiet room, for residents that were overwhelmed but not ready to go back to their own room just yet). Yuri stared at Viktor, then smacked him upside the head. “Idiot.” “I didn’t mean it,” Viktor said. He couldn’t help it. After so long not smelling anyone, he couldn’t control his alpha reaction to distressed omega. At least it wasn’t too loud this time. The last time, he accidentally growled so loud he cleared the building and Katherine started him on a warning punch card, just like all of the teenage residents who only risked missing out on movie night every Friday. Viktor could lose his wristband.

Viktor turned to the director. “How bad was it?” Katherine gave a tired smile. “He was calmer this time. He even spoke.”

“But he had to be sedated?”

Katherine nodded, but then her smile faded as she sighed, giving his shoulder a pat. “I forgot you could smell him.” The phone in her pocket vibrated loudly. She stopped mid-step to look at it. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave for the day, Mr. Nikiforov. Mrs. Katsuki is on her way.”

* * *

Hiroko Katsuki sat on a plush seat on the Omega Rehabilitation Centre shuttle, which had picked her up with a small group of younger omegas from the airport. Despite being bundled up in her warmest clothes, she still shivered, though part of it was excitement. For the last three years, she thought she would never see her precious omega son again. No one knew what happened to him. He was just gone. There was no camera footage of him leaving his hotel room after being escorted there. All of his stuff was still in the room, along with his collars and cuffs (he brought three sets: a custom one that matched both costumes, a formal one for the banquet, and a soft one he wore every day.)

Everything he owned now sat in his childhood bedroom, collecting dust under the photographed eyes of the alpha that saw him last.

Just as Hiroko looked outside, she thought she saw the man. No. She knew she saw Viktor Nikiforov jogging in the opposite direction. She spent enough time in her son’s still faintly cinnamon and vanilla-scented room, mourning her baby boy alone, to know the face that covered his walls.

The Sochi police spent nearly forty-eight hours questioning the then Russian National Figure Skating Champion Viktor Nikiforov. Clips of the videos leaked online about a year ago, showing an obviously very distressed alpha. In the clip Hiroko saw, his silver hair was a mess from having been pulled, his clothes were disheveled, and his eyes were rimmed with red and full of tears. She had to stop watching when he was slapped across his tear-streaked face. Hiroko wasn’t sure how to feel about Viktor Nikiforov. On one hand, she wanted to hold the poor boy from the video that had gotten punished for just wanting to call his coach. On the other, if he hadn’t left her son alone that night….

She shook her head, not wanting her own frustration to cloud her scent. Lavender and sandalwood, the latter part of her alpha’s original scent. She did miss the vanilla in her scent, and was thrilled when Yuuri inherited it with Toshiya’s cinnamon. Of course, this led to them having to add a few cinnamon baked goods to their inn’s menu, as anyone who smelled his scent was hit with the sudden craving for sweets. For the last few years, though, they only served cinnamon rolls, snickerdoodles, and cinnamon coffee cake once a year for what should have been Yuuri’s birthday. Mari could barely handle Yu-Topia Katsuki being filled with scents so similar to her lost brother’s that one day a year. Hiroko needed it.

Just like she needed to fly all the way to Saint Petersburg, Russia, as soon as they received the call that Yuuri had been found alive. She needed to see her son. To touch his hand, run her fingers through his hair. Hiroko needed to prove to herself that this was real. That her son had actually been found and she wasn’t about to wake up on Yuuri’s bed after dreaming this.

As soon as the bus stopped, Hiroko followed the group off. She only brought a carry-on bag, which easily fit on the empty seat next to her own, and the old blue backpack she held onto tightly, so she had to wait for the others to gather their own luggage as they spoke excitedly in Russian before finally walking up the aisle.

“Mrs. Katsuki, welcome to Russia,” the director greeted as soon as she stepped off the bus.

“Thank you, Miss Ivanova.” Hiroko was surprised that the centre’s director was younger than herself. She expected someone at least her age, maybe even older. This beta woman was likely just a few years older than her daughter.

“Oh, please just call me Katherine,” she said with a warm smile. She then gestured toward the front door. “He’s resting now, but you can see him.”

The first thing that Hiroko smelled a flurry of the usual omega scents, ranging from floral to overly sweet, as they walked through the building. She heard Katherine talking about the organization and this branch’s success stories, but didn’t really process it. She was waiting for that first whiff of cinnamon and vanilla that would tell her that they were close. Her Yuuri always smelled the strongest when he slept.

So she was shocked when they walked around a corner and they were suddenly standing at an open door labeled _Katsuki, Yuuri._

That couldn’t right. She should have smelled him by now. They had to move his bedroom upstairs after he presented because his scent was so strong it would seep out of his closed door at night. During his heats, they had to use multiple air fresheners and hide charcoal bags in discreet corners and by doorways to keep his scent under control (much to his obvious embarrassment, they never mentioned until he moved and they had to help him prepare his dorm room over the phone). Surely, she would have caught at least a hint of cinnamon in the air.

Unless.

Unless that happened.

Then she saw him. That was definitely her baby. He was thinner than she had ever seen him, his hair longer. That was her son though. He had her face, even if it had far more fading bruises than she liked to see (one was too many). She immediately rushed to his bedside. Hiroko barely sat down on the foam padding on the metal chair left there before she unzipped the backpack. Most of the inside of the backpack’s main pocket was filled with a folded green blanket with the words YU-TOPIA KATSUKI printed in Japanese and English. As soon as it was unfolded, the air was filled with lavender and sandalwood. Before she left home, she and her husbanded scented this blanket for their son, to make him more comfortable in what was a very strange, and very stressful, place for him. Something she could leave behind after her short visit for him.

Hiroko started scenting him, trying to keep her distress at bay as she rubbed her wrist against her son. She hadn’t scented him like this since he was a child, since before he presented, but her inner omega screamed that he needed a scent, any scent, as soon as possible. Especially since he wasn’t wearing any protection. Nothing covered his neck or wrists except for the soft, easily removed or bitten through, bandages. Though he was clearly unclaimed (at least, not by his soulmate, otherwise she’d smell it) the sight was still enough to set off alarm bells.

Katherine must have noticed, or this was a common concern with visitors, because she automatically explained, “Many of our patients are abuse victims, so we usually wait until if they request a collar.”

“But what if an alpha…” she didn’t want to say the words. She didn’t even want to think the words.

“No one can enter without a keycard or wristband, and this wing is off limits at night to non-medical personal,” Katherine said as she walked to the other side of the bed to check the monitors. Hiroko had seen the director tap a card against the main entrance, but didn’t think anything of it. Now it made sense. “Alphas are banned from this building, and all of the doors can be closed and locked at a moment’s notice if someone breaks in. They’re all rut-proof, bullet-proof, capable of stopping a tank.”

That was a little reassuring, but not completely. Hiroko looked down at her son’s bruised face, wishing she could take him home with her. Stuff him with warm food until he was full enough to burst and then put him back in her nest of her husband’s old clothes and her children’s old pink and blue baby blankets like when he was a child having a panic attack, struggling to deal with the world off the ice. He was safe there. He would be safer there. If only they were closer to Hasetsu, then she could bundle him up and take him home. Instead, they were on what felt like the other side of the world and so too far for him to safely travel home.

A soft groan caught Hiroko’s attention. Her wrist had traveled up to Yuuri’s neck, barely applying any pressure above the soft white bandage, yet it seemed to be enough to wake him. “Yuuri, it’s mom,” she whispered in Japanese for her son. She couldn’t help her tears when she saw the slivers of brown as he barely opened his eyes.

“Mom?” Yuuri murmured, barely audible. Then he inhaled so deeply he whimpered, his eyebrows scrunching up.

“Mr. Katsuki does something hurt?” the director asked, looking for any other signs of pain. Though she had years of experience treating intensive care patients at other branches, Yuuri’s case was harder because he had no scent, which was normally the first indicator that something was wrong. Unless there was something obvious, she needed him to tell her if he was in any pain. Well, anything beyond what was already being treated.

But Yuuri shook his head, so slight it would have been missed if the director wasn’t watching carefully. Then he looked at her. Rather, he looked at her hand. The same hand she had patted Viktor Nikiforov’s shoulder with less than an hour before. “…evergreen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to have Yuri wear a really edgy collar (think like old-Hot Topic. Then I started his part of the next chapter and realized that he’d be more likely to wear cat-themed collars he saw in storefront windows (he might have secretly purchased a few from stores like Claire’s). 
> 
> **cue 90’s style anime theme music**  
> Next time on Of Evergreen and Cinnamon, Viktor prepares a gift for Yuuri! Also, he has an encounter with Hiroko! Plus, a meeting of the Yu(u)ris!


	3. Chapter 3

This was much harder than Viktor expected. When Yuri called the night before and half asked, half demanded, for him to scent something for Yuuri, he thought it would be easy. Viktor used to scent things all the time. During his years as a competitive figure skater (AKA most of his life), the first thing he did when he entered a hotel room was scent the bedding. If an event took him away from home for days, he used to scent Makkachin’s bed and blanket before leaving. Hell, all of the Russian skaters used to scent each other’s team jackets and skate guards as a sort of strange preskate ritual the night before the few competiting would have to leave for their event, so their entire team’s scents would be with them right up until they stepped onto the ice (they used to scent boots as well, but someone got cut by a blade and developed a staph infection). So Viktor Nikiforov was no stranger to scenting.

He just hadn’t tried to scent something without being able to smell himself.

“Makka, am I doing this right?” Viktor asked as he sat with his legs crossed on the floor next to Makkachin’s living room bed with a blue and white heated blanket draped on his lap. It was a housewarming present from a former rink mate that he never used (who needs a heated blanket when you have a warm standard-size poodle that loved to cuddle?). It sat in the back of his closet, part of a collection of gifts he never used but felt wrong getting rid of. He actually planned to scent something else, like a soft hoodie or sweater, but when he saw the blanket, still in its original plastic zippered bag, he knew that Yuuri would appreciate that more.

Makkachin was asleep, not even stirring when Viktor scratched her head. Of course, she couldn’t actually tell if Viktor was doing this right. Viktor didn’t even know if Makkachin could smell him or not. Dog had better sense of smell, right? Maybe dogs could smell unscented alphas and omegas, even if nearly every other person on the planet couldn’t. Unfortunately, his online search three years ago asking that very question turned up nothing and it wasn’t like the dog could tell him.

The only person who could answer his question was Yuuri Katsuki. The omega was the only person who could smell him. It would have been so much easier if he was there, but then Viktor wouldn’t need to scent the blanket. Not when he could just scent him.

The alarm on his phone went off. It barely started before the alpha turned it off. He had been up for hours already, woken up by a nightmare he hadn’t had since he started seeing his therapist again online less than a year before, when those videos went viral. In the dream, he was back in the Sochi police station, cuffed to a cold metal chair in front of a dented metal table covered in security images of Yuuri Katsuki practically draped on him as they walked to his hotel room, both clearly drunk. The only scent he could smell was his own warm urine on his damp pants. He could taste his own blood from when he was slapped so hard his lip split. Dark figures in police uniforms shouted at him, their voices drowning out his plea to call Coach Yakov. They called him names. The insulted him, his deceased parents, his coach, and alpha figure skaters in general. They threatened him and his dog. Worst of all, they accused him of murdering Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor shook his head, trying to get the memory out of his head. Maybe he should make an appointment with his therapist. It had been a while since their last talk, which ended when he recommended returning to weekly in-person visits and possibly restarting medication. For the alpha, that was out of the question, not happening, no. He could only imagine what kind of drama it would cause if that kind of information somehow got leaked to the press, again.

For now, he needed to not be stressed. At least, not until after he scented this blanket. Hopefully, it was actually working, and he wasn’t just rubbing his wrists against the soft fabric for nothing. Maybe he should also try his neck? He had scent glands there too. More scent glands meant a higher chance of the blanket getting scented properly, right? But first, maybe he should calm down, maybe take a break and make some coffee. He did just find a wonderful cinnamon roll-flavored coffee creamer the other day.

* * *

A few hours and a pot and a half of coffee later, Viktor parked his car across the parking lot from the Omega Rehabilitation Centre entrance. It was an unassuming black car that probably would have passed for anyone else’s, if not for the rainbow of poodle plushies in the rear windshield, so many it probably made it even more hazardous to drive. And the mini one hanging from the rearview mirror. And the “I <3 My Poodle” magnet he bought in the United States years before and stuck on the middle of the trunk door. And the pink paw print themed steering wheel cover. And the dog harness attachment on the front passenger seat.

Viktor Nikiforov was retired. He usually only drove Makkachin to the vet’s office. It can be dog themed if he wanted.

No matter how tightly he folded the blanket, Viktor couldn’t get it to fit in his backpack. Even if he took everything else out of the backpack, it would not fit. He barely managed to get it to fit back into its original packaging, and had to sit on the bag to zip it shut. The bag was clear though, and Viktor couldn’t imagine how ridiculous it would look for him to jog that far with a stuffed backpack on his back and a heated blanket. He could already see he headlines questioning if he had been evicted. To avoid the awkward calls from well-meaning former rink mates and competitors, the alpha decided to drive this time.

By the time he walked passed the last row of cars to the centre, a taxi had stopped, dropped off its passenger, and drove away. Viktor couldn’t help nearly tripping on his own feet when he saw her. Even bundled up in a not-warm-enough coat, scarf, and hat, she looked so much like Yuuri. It took the woman actually looking him over and bracing herself for him to realize that this must be Yuuri’s mother. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her start walking towards him with one hand tight around her purse strap and the other in a fist. The alpha bowed his head immediately, ready to be shouted at by the angry-looking woman.

When Hiroko saw Viktor Nikiforov walking toward the centre, she wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to hate him, for not being there when they took her son. For not spending just a little more time with her son, to make sure he was completely safe, before he left him that night. For not telling Yuuri’s coach that he had returned him to his room.

Then she saw the alpha bow his head to her, nervously looking down at his scuffed shoes. Like a misbehaved child anxiously waiting to be punished. She saw him, and remembered that video of him being slapped. She remembered the photos of him at his last World Championship, struggling to hold back tears during the last press conference, which he ended up walking out of early. She remembered seeing the magazines in the grocery store check out lanes showing photos of the skater leaving a psychiatrist’s office and then a pharmacy with a prescription bag. Hiroko didn’t need to smell him to know he was scared. At first, the omega in her screamed danger! That this alpha was a threat to her already injured child. Then, when he practically submitted to her, the omega side calmed down enough to see him as another hurt child, alone in this cold, cruel world.

Which was how Hiroko Katsuki ended up wrapping her arms around Viktor Nikiforov.

It just felt like the right thing to do. She was a mother. He needed a mother. To the omega in her that had raised two children, it made sense. Even as the alpha initially went as stiff as an icicle. Then, just as she was about to let go, he melted into her arms, his free hand wrapping around her as his forehead rested on her shoulder. So much like her own son.

“Thank you,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft and wet. “I’m sorry.”

“Īe. You did nothing wrong,” Hiroko said quietly as she instinctively stroked his back just like she used to do with Yuuri when he came to her for comfort. It was in that moment that she realized she couldn’t blame him. If she blamed anyone, it was all of the older adults that should have been watching over them: the coaches and the parents. Despite what Yuuri said, he should have had his parents there.

But then, if they had been in Sochi with Yuuri, who would have been with Mari when she found Vicchan on the side of the road that morning?

Then a loud meow interrupted them. Misha the cat sat on the sign, as usual for that time of the day.

“Misha! We were having a moment,” Victor whined in Russian as he pulled away from Hiroko, who chuckled at the whiny tone. She would never look at those posters the same way again.

The cat meowed again. His pets were late.

* * *

Yuuri sniffed the green blanket in his too thin hands, willing himself to smell his parents’ scents. The blanket almost smelled like home, but not quite. He could smell the frying oil that reminded him of katsudon, the gentle cleaning products his mother used in the private, family areas of their home, the alcohol his father always drank (and spilled) during sports viewing parties, the cigarettes his sister always promised to quit “next year”. But without base scents, the lavender and sandalwood, the other smells simply didn’t feel right. The memory of the evergreen Yuuri smelled the day before felt right. Deep down, somewhere possibly even beyond where his secondary gender instincts began, he wanted to drown in that scent. It didn’t make sense to him. He thought he should have been scared when he saw his mother without her lavender and sandalwood scent wrapped around her like a blanket.

Instead, he was distracted by the scent he did smell, the evergreen from his drug-induced dreams. Surely, whoever it belonged to had to be on good terms with the director. They had to be a nice person. _‘A nice person, or a brilliant actor,’_ his mind so unhelpfully supplied. Barely clear enough to form coherent thoughts, and it already decided to start doubting that comforting scent.

Yuuri pushed his glasses back up his face. His mother brought his old blue half-framed glasses and, while everything was still slightly blurry due to his vision getting worse, it was better than before. It helped that he could see who walked in, as he couldn’t smell anyone, with the exception of Misha who smelled like dirt and wet cat food.

And the mystery hopefully not bad alpha. He tried to stay awake for his mother. Yuuri spent most of the day before sleeping, waking up long enough to see his mother sitting beside him, reading a book or talking quietly on her new-to-him phone, her hand never leaving his. He wanted to actually spend time with her this time. He wanted to talk to her. He missed so much. How was the onsen? Did Mari actually quit smoking, or was that still “next year”? How was Minako-sensei? Did she still teach ballet? How were Yuuko and Takeshi? Did they still run the Ice Castle? Their triplets were probably so big by now.

Instead, one of the volunteers stomped in, as denoted by the lanyard he wore around his neck under his (tiger-striped?) collar, with a huge rectangle bag. Strange, Yuuri was sure he’d never seen this person before, yet he looked vaguely familiar, like he should know him. He squinted his eyes, trying to figure it out. Unfortunately, this caused his eyes to want to close more, to go back to sleep. But he couldn’t sleep yet. He needed to at least greet his mother properly this time. Yuuri needed to properly apologize for worrying her.

“Hey. It’s me,” Yuri said, stopping at the foot of the bed. This wasn’t his first time in this room. In fact, he was here almost every night since he learned that Yuuri was here, even going out of his way after practice just to visit before returning to the dorms. His excuse was always to get Misha out before he got locked in the wing (Yuuri Katsuki’s room was the warmest and easiest to enter rooms, so the cat often warmed up there). Really, he just needed to see Yuuri.

The first time he saw Yuuri Katsuki there was during his first after-practice visit. He took one look, ran to the nearest restroom, lost the contents of his stomach to the toilet, then curled up into a (in his opinion, pathetic) ball on the cold tile floor and cried until another omega found him. Vanya, a nurse whose scent reminded Yuri very much of his grandfather’s laundry detergent, held him close and rocked him like a small child until he couldn’t cry anymore, whispering the usual reassurances that he himself had told crying children in the recreation building when the stress of an injured omega relative became too much for them. “Don’t worry.” “It will be okay.” “He’s strong.” “He’ll recover in no time.” “He’s in good hands.”

Yuuri Katsuki did vanish from the ISU Official Event hotel when no one was looking. Deep down, part of Yuri Plisetsky feared that, if he didn’t check his room every day right before the wing locked, he might vanish from there too.

They were both silent for an awkwardly long time, Yuuri clearly still not sure who this person was. Apparently, he should know. Problem was, as an international level competitive figure skater, he’d met a lot of people with blonde hair and, as a university student in Detroit, he met more non-skaters with blonde hair. There was a long fuzzy list of people that came to his medicine-fogged mind and he was too tired to go through it. A scent would have been helpful, but that wasn’t happening.

“Yeah so…uh…I’m sorry I was an ass to you in Sochi,” Yuri finally said, looking down at the locked wheels on the bed. Ever since the Japanese man went missing, he regretted shouting at him in the arena restroom that day. Looking back, he couldn’t help thinking it was selfish. With Viktor very likely to retire soon after he moved up to seniors, possibly even before that, Yuri saw his competition dwindling. If his Japanese namesake actually dropped out after that shockingly bad free program, who did he have left to compete against? Russia’s Most Dramatic? The Swiss Pervert? The Narcissistic Canadian? He didn’t actually want Yuuri to retire like he said. Yuri wanted to see Japan’s Ace use his words as motivation to pull himself back up, even if it was only so that he could crush him.

“It’s okay,” was Yuuri’s automatic response. He still couldn’t think of who this was. Truthfully, he barely remembered the Sochi Grand Prix. The thing that stood out the most was the accidental call from Mari before his free skate (she was at the vet’s office with no TV and got the timing wrong). He remembered not wanting to leave his hotel room again until his flight back to Detroit and having to be bribed (with the promise of whatever fast food he wanted when they returned to the States) to go to the banquet. He remembered feeling horrible for being away from home for so long, for not being with Vicchan when the vet had to put him to sleep.

“Shit. Does something hurt?” Yuuri wiped his face with his still-bandaged hand.

“No. I’m fine.” It just hurt to think about Vicchan, but he wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. Not with this stranger who seemed so familiar with him.

Yuri watched him, deciding whether or not to call a nurse in (he thought he saw Vanya at the desk with a chocolate frosted doughnut). He ended up deciding against it. “So…I got something for you. Actually, stupid Viktor got you something, but I gave him the idea, so yeah. I guess we got you something?” Then he shook his head, ignoring when Yuuri questioned the mentioned name. “No. We sounds like did this together, which we did not. I told him a sweater, but he had to scent a whole fu-”

“What is it?” Yuuri knew babbling when he saw it. He didn’t have the energy for it.

Yuri sat on the chair next to the bed and held the bag on the bed next to his hand. “Open it.”

This close, Yuuri could easily see that the blue was actually the blanket folded inside the clear bag. Another blanket. This one looked warmer, which was nice. Considering how cold he heard his mom tell whoever she spoke to on the phone it was outside, Yuuri knew that multiple blankets would come in handy when he was able to leave this room.

Then Yuuri pulled the zipper and a cloud of evergreen and chamomile washed over him like a wave.

Yuuri stared at it, then looked up at the blonde in awe. “Viktor Nikiforov scented this?” He leaned down to sniff the corner of the soft fabric he pulled out, allowing the scent to flood his senses. He was so relieved that he couldn’t crying as he half giggled, “I smell Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor just pulled up to his apartment building. The recreation building was empty for once, the director was busy preparing for multiple discharges that afternoon, and he couldn’t visit Yuuri, so he felt no reason to stay for longer than it took for him drink a mocha (he really needed to start buying refills). He did exchange phone numbers with Yuuri’s mother and handed the heated blanket off to Yuri, who claimed that he was “doing the most” (when Mrs. Katsuki heard that it was for her son, she first offered to pay him back for it, then tried to refuse it, and then thanked him profusely for it and told him to call her “Hiroko-okasan”). The alpha in Viktor was very pleased with himself. He had provided for the omega. He had gotten something the omega couldn’t get himself. At least, he hoped he did. For all he knew, he just gave Yuuri another blanket that could be rejected because it was from an alpha.

Then he got a text from Yuri.

[image: Yuuri, still covered in fading bruises, with most his face buried in a corner of the blue heated blanket, the rest of which was still in the bag. Through his long dark hair and just above the edge of the blanket, a small smile can be seen.]

Serdityy Kotenok (Yuri)  
Your scenting worked TOO well  
He FELL ASLEEP like THAT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hiroko’s phone is likely at least three years old. She and Toshiya got their own phones when Yuuri first went missing so the investigators could contact them as soon as they had news. Celestino probably called the Yu-Topia Katsuki business number though, as that was likely the only number Yuuri had for his parents.
> 
> **cue 90’s-style anime theme**  
> Next time on Of Evergreen and Cinnamon, Viktor gets a surprise phone call! Then, a nightmare strikes!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING: Apparently, I am a liar. Another rape scene in the italicized flashback.

It was the end of one of Viktor’s now-rare busy days. While he was no longer a competitive figure skater, he was still known for being the most decorated man in the sport (plus, he was still a very attractive, single alpha, even if he was scentless), so he was still asked to do magazine interviews and photoshoots. He tried to keep them local, so he would be home with Makkachin every night. The ones that really wanted him tended to make it work. Sometimes, this resulted in him barely having time to feed and walk Makkachin before rushing out the door for the first photoshoot of the day. Usually, he had no problem doing this. He used to do multiple photoshoots and interviews on his days off from practice, and sometimes during practice, maybe taking a hand-full of days during the season to actually rest.

This time, Viktor was exhausted by the time he walked through his apartment door. He suspected it was partly the crash due to the amount of coffee he drank during the day catching up with him. Part of it was him barely sleeping the past few nights because of his nightmares. Part of it was him staying up late the night before sorting and scenting poodle plushies.

He never realized how many poodle plushies he’d collected from the ice through his career until he decided to sort through them. Besides the ones in his car, he had two large plastic bins full of them in his master bedroom closet, plus a bag in the guestroom closet, and the large bag from the Sochi Grand Prix Finals that he tossed into the entryway closet when he returned and tried to forget about, only to be reminded of those painful memories every time he had to open it.

The plushies now sat in two piles in the guestroom. One of those was scented for Yuuri, though Viktor planned to bring them one at a time (he didn’t want to overwhelm the omega with an avalanche of scented poodles). The other one, deemed unworthy by the alpha of being in Yuuri’s presence, was waiting to be sorted again. He knew there were plushies that could be thrown away as they looked like they were seconds from falling apart, ones that could be donated, and ones that he definitely wanted to keep.

With a slightly exaggerated sigh, Viktor fell face first onto his couch, his still-shoe-clad feet hanging off the arm rest of the too short piece of furniture. His face buried in the soft dog-scented cushion, he kicked off his shoes. Then, he turned his head and smiled. One of the ones Viktor was sure he was keeping sat on the coffee table. At first glance, it wasn’t anything special. A normal brown poodle plushie with a sparkly blue ribbon around its neck. He had dozens of brown poodle plushies. It was the scent of cinnamon and vanilla that poured out as soon as Viktor opened the Sochi bag that made from this particular one that made it so special. Yuuri’s scent. The alpha spent close to half an hour carefully sniffing every plushie in that bag to figure out which one had the omega’s scent. This one smelled the strongest.

Viktor reached over and pulled the plushie to his face. He could understand why Yuuri fell asleep to his scent the day before. After three years of not smelling anyone’s scent, this was absolutely heavenly. He couldn’t wait to bring Yuuri the first poodle from the pile he scented, and wished he could have done so that day. He didn’t have time that morning and knew that visiting hours would be long over by the time he was done with everything.

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Serdityy Kotenok (Yuri)  
Busy?

No?

When the video call request came through, Viktor couldn’t help groaning tiredly as he sat up. It wasn’t too unusual for his former rink mates to call him from a dance studio or, more often, a dorm room with furniture pushed out of the way to get his opinion on a piece of choreography they modified to get his feedback before they showed Yakov. He accepted, expecting to see the blonde teenager adjusting his phone on a makeshift tripod. Instead, the first thing saw was Yuuri.

“Hi Viktor,” Yuuri said, partly hidden by the edge of the heated blanket. His hair looked neater, finally clean and brushed. Viktor both hated and loved those glasses. Hate because they looked so big and bulky. Love because they made his beautiful brown eyes bigger and easier to gaze into on his tiny phone’s screen. Then again, Viktor doubted if even the biggest screen in New York City’s Time’s Square would be big enough to fully appreciate the beauty that is Yuuri Katsuki.

“Yuuri,” was all Viktor could say. His mind went blank to everything except the omega’s name and that he was actually awake and talking and not panicking. To think almost two weeks before, he thought he would never see Yuuri Katsuki again, and now here he was. Sort of. For now, this was probably as close as Viktor would to seeing him. For now, this would have to be enough.

“Thank you for this,” Yuuri said as he lifted the edge of the blanket a little more. The camera’s lighting shifted, making Yuuri’s blush a little redder. Or were they turning redder anyway? “I wanted to tell you that in person, but I…I can’t go out and…you can’t come in…so…”

“Shit. Don’t tell me you’re about to start crying again,” Yuri mumbled off camera. There was some shuffling, followed by a generic floral tissue box getting tossed onto the bed. Then the camera turned so it was facing Yuri who walked out of the room as he said in Russian, “His mom had to go home early. I thought seeing your stupid face might help.”

“Aw! You do care!” Viktor said, before he sniffled.

“Are you crying too? I’m hanging up. We’ll call again on Saturday,” Yuri said. The microphone caught Yuri saying something about how love was dumb to Misha, who the camera caught a glimpse of, before the call ended.

Finally, Makkachin joined Viktor in the living room. She sat next to Viktor on the floor, her head rested on his lap. The beta son of the building manager watched her for the day, so she already got all of her meals and walks. That didn’t mean she couldn’t guilt her human into giving her extra treats.

Viktor patted her head twice before he stood to walk into the kitchen. It was past dinner time. Thankfully, Viktor had made himself a whole pot of ukha the night before, so all he had to do was put the heavy pot back on the stove to reheat. Otherwise, he’d have to either order take out from the only place that was open that late (owned by the creepiest person Viktor had ever had the displeasure of meeting) or try to put something together with whatever he had precut in his nearly empty refrigerator.

As he waited for his soup to warm, he picked up his poodle and carried her back into their bedroom, where place carefully placed her on her extra plush orthopedic bed with a senior-friendly dog bone. For a moment, as he watched her first sniff the bone then carefully start chewing, Viktor couldn’t help wondering if he would get to introduce her to Yuuri. He considered it lucky that Makkachin was alive this long, almost eighteen years. He knew that the rest of her litter mates, and some of their descendants, had passed already. He wanted to tell the omega about her, but didn’t want to get his hopes up to meet her just for her to pass before then. That seemed too cruel. The world had been cruel enough to Yuuri Katsuki.

_He was burning._

_Everything felt like it was on fire. Like molten lava ran through his veins, burning him from the inside, from his head all the way down to his toes. In contrast, his skin was cold, exposed to the air around him. He knew without looking that he was naked, save for the impossibly heavy metal that kept his arms and legs away from his body, that kept his head on the flattened pillow that smelled unmistakably like sweat, dried semen, and vomit._

_He tried to ask to be released, but the ball in his mouth reduced his voice to muffled sounds. The people that stood around him purposely mis-interrupted his sounds and his attempts at thrashing as encouragement, made obvious by their laughs. Someone even asked if he was comfortable, making them all laugh harder. When a large rough hand barely stroked his inner thigh, he couldn’t help the sudden desperate moan. Part of his mind, a part that he suddenly found himself fighting and increasingly losing to, was enjoying the attention, enjoying being kept spread out and ready to be used by anyone._

_Then an alpha climbed onto the bed and he froze. The alpha laughed at the trapped omega under him, saying that he was worth the premium price, worth the extra fee for the induced heat. Then, as his thighs were forced farther apart and he finally lost the battle in his mind, the alpha filled him in one hard thrust._

Viktor awoke in his bed, clutching the poodle plushie so tight in his arms that they trembled (this was probably the one time that he was glad that Makkachin preferred her own customized bed on the floor rather than using the dog steps to snuggle into to his at night, otherwise it could have easily been her being squished in his arms). That nightmare. It was so vivid, even more so than his usual nightmares. He pressed his face into the plushie, inhaling the faint cinnamon and vanilla scent embedded deep in the faux fur to try to calm himself. Instead, his mind kept replaying those images, like the afterimage after a camera flash. That, and the terrifying thought that that might have been something Yuuri experienced.

Rolling over, Viktor grabbed his phone to peek at the time. 5:23 AM. He groaned, laying on his back to stare at the ceiling. There was no point in him trying to go back to sleep, as his alarm would be going off soon anyway. After over twenty years of figure skating, he was used to waking up early (frankly, he used to wake up earlier when he had long hair as it took more time to undo the heavy braid, shampoo, condition, and then brush it all out just right). He thought about maybe stopping by the fish market, since he had the extra time. It had been a while since he had fish that wasn’t laying on ice or frozen fillets in bags in the supermarket.

The fish market had nothing Viktor was interested in, and he wondered if that was part of the reason why he hadn’t been there in so long. He stopped by a small café that he had never been to before for a mocha and a fresh-baked cinnamon roll. It was quiet and cozy, with slightly dimmed lights, soft color scheme, and calm piano music playing. The staff seemed friendly. As Viktor used the plastic fork to rip into his pastry, he couldn’t help imagining Yuuri sitting across from him at the little table. He pictured the omega wearing one of his sweaters under a good winter coat and a thick knit scarf, smiling as he cut into one of those colorful berry danishes he saw in the display case. Or would Yuuri prefer one of those croissant sandwiches? Maybe both? Maybe next time they could split a sandwich and a cinnamon roll?

On the way back to his apartment, Viktor walked by a storefront window with six collars on white display busts, the matching cuffs lying next to them. They were all an oddly light shades of yellow, pink, and green that almost blended into their displays. The three on the top shelf, one of each color, matched the ones the photographed models wore on the posters in the back. The signs claimed that those were this season’s colors, and he was sure that, had he been a younger omega, he would have owned the most expensive ones. Maybe he would have been one of the models smiling in the promotional posters.

Viktor tried, but couldn’t imagine Yuuri wearing any of those. No. Most of the collars and cuffs he had seen the Japanese omega wear in photos and videos ranged from navy blue to black. The few exceptions were from when he just presented (apparently, he had his first heat in the middle of his second year in seniors) and likely had to choose from what was available at the time, and those weren’t much lighter. Green and dark pink. After meeting his omega mother, Viktor had a pretty good idea of where those came from.

“Good morning, sir!” A woman greeted as she opened the door. She wore a collar made from woven brown cords with blue beads to match her blouse. That seemed to be closer to Yuuri’s style, but not quite right. “We have a much wider selection inside!”

“I’m just passing by!” Viktor said with his old press smile as he stepped away from the window. He recognized the look on her face when she greeted him. He saw it every time he went to a store. She knew exactly who he was.

“It’s still early! No one will know you’re here!” She said, still holding the door open. The heat radiating from the store was tempting. As was the idea of window shopping for Yuuri, daydreaming of what he would or wouldn’t wear. Which collars would get the honor of gracing Yuuri Katsuki’s beautiful neck. Once the scrapes and bruises finally faded.

“Next time!” Viktor promised. Hopefully, next time will be with Yuuri. That would be more fun anyway, right? Maybe Yuuri would model the collars for him. Maybe the omega will even let him put the collars on him. Even if he didn’t, Viktor wouldn’t mind just watching and picking out a few. He did want to see Yuuri in a lighter color. Maybe not pastel, but something lighter than forest green. Maybe even pink.

Viktor suddenly thought of seeing Yuuri in his Stammi Vicino costume. He had half a mind to rush home to pull out the costume and his old sketch book just to design a collar for Yuuri based on that. He kept himself a steady pace as he walked, giving himself enough time to imagine other costumes on the omega. Then he thought of his black costume from juniors, which he designed after accidentally opening the wrong locker and finding a stash of explicit photos (Yakov stopped questioning where he got his costume inspiration from long before this). Viktor had to stop for a minute, partly because the idea of Yuuri wearing that part mesh costume quickly changed into Yuuri dancing in that costume, which evolved into him pole dancing in it. God that would be amazing. Of course there would have to be some modifications to the costume to allow that, as there needed to be more skin contact with the pole. They could cut off the sleeves and most of the tights. It was bit of a warm costume off-ice anyway. Just as he tried to remember if Yakov ever gave him back his fabric scissors, Viktor’s phone vibrated.

Anton (or Alex?)  
You need to come NOW  
Something happened with Yuuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Viktor eats ukha in this chapter because I like fish.
> 
> **cue 90’s style anime theme**  
> *GASP!* What happened to Yuuri? Find out in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always welcomed (even if I'm horrible at replying to comments)


End file.
